


Presence

by sleepingspero9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Dean, College Students Castiel/Dean Winchester, Engineer Dean, Grey-Asexual Castiel, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Tutor Castiel, Tutoring, and cas is really uptight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingspero9/pseuds/sleepingspero9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas are in different engineering programs at their grad school, but they share a physics class. Castiel is certain that they couldn't possibly share anything more, while Dean does his very best to convince him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the A Side

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shucks, I got an amazing artist for DCBB15! [ spnblargh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spnblargh) did [ an adorable 3D piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5107004) in such a short time, so impressive! Thank you so much!! T_T

There was something about Dean Winchester that Castiel couldn’t put his finger on.  For the longest time, he’d just been another face in the crowd.  They had shared a number of classes in the past year - as he learned, because Dean was in the AeroAstro program - but Dean’s wasn’t the sort of face Castiel cared to remember.  In an objective sense, he was too handsome.

He probably paid his tuition by modelling, instead of busting ass to earn a prestigiously selective scholarship the way Castiel had to.  And worse still, it gave him the telltale sloppy machismo that went along with all of that; he wore heavy boots and flannel nearly every single day, and walked with a cowboy strut.  It was enough to make Castiel roll his eyes every time the guy entered a room.  Definitely the type of person Castiel would never have any reason, or desire, to fraternize with.

Dean himself seemed to have a different impression altogether.  Since the start of this term, Dean had been sitting next to him in their physics classes.  And he started smiling in a silent greeting whenever he passed by, as if they knew each other.  Castiel didn't have time for that kind of nonsense, not with the course load he had, so he ignored Dean's antics entirely.

But as soon as he had pinned a tutoring offer on the student board of the physics wing, Dean pounced.  Figuratively, of course.

He appeared out of nowhere, announcing, “I’ve always been crap at math,” as if Castiel had asked.

_Then what possessed you to attend engineering school?_  Castiel wondered, as Dean dropped into the seat next to him.

But all he said was a stiff “Winchester.”

“I hear you’re a decent tutor.”

“Only time will tell.”  Castiel sighed, brandishing the few extra copies he’d made of the tutoring ad, “Since I just posted these five minutes ago.”

“Ah hah!” Dean winked, conspiratorially, and snatched the stack of pages from his hand.  “So what do you say, Cas?”

Cas.  No one had ever shortened his name in that manner before.  It was much too assuming, diminutive, _degrading_ -

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the man, silently fuming for a moment.  He had made the tutoring offer for good reason: _money_.  Of which pin-up boy Dean surely had more than him.

He couldn’t really afford to say no.

And so Castiel subjected himself to one-on-one sessions with this buffoon.  It wasn’t even the annoyingly amicable attitude that was driving him to distraction.  Of course Castiel hadn’t gone twenty years in this world without encountering social butterflies; he knew how to deal with _them_.

But Dean, he was different.  And it seemed Castiel didn’t even have the vocabulary to classify exactly what was wrong with him.  What made it so difficult to function normally in this guy’s presence.

It was a weird, kind of magnetic energy.  It snuck up on him so gradually that Castiel didn’t even notice it at first.  Then, one day while they were seated in a computer lab, Dean tried to get his attention without taking his eyes off the screen, inadvertently clapping Castiel in the groin.

Obliviously, Dean continued the offense, insisting, “But Cas - look -”

Castiel was frozen, the on-screen problem disappearing from his train of thought entirely.  Dean still didn’t notice.

“Look, Cas -” he just kept patting him, _repeatedly_ -

“Dean,” he choked out.

Dean finally glanced over, frustration written on his face.  “What?”

He gave Dean a meaningful look, which of course was lost on him.

“ _What_?”

Castiel tried to summon his voice, but nothing came out.  ‘ _Your hand is on my genitals_ ’ was surprisingly difficult to say.

But he did clue in, eyes roving downwards as his hand retreated.  “Oh… dude.  Those, uh - that wasn’t your keys, was it?”

Castiel managed to shake his head no.

“Oh, _dude_ ,”  Dean jolted back in his seat, both hands up as if in surrender.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t - I thought that was something in your pocket… I didn’t know…”

And Castiel would normally have no patience for this sort of thing.  Normally, it would be immediate water under the bridge, so they wouldn’t have to dwell on it for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.  But Dean’s eyes, wide in apology, the way he stuttered, when he had _never_ seen Dean lose his cool like this… it was clear that Dean Winchester was mortified.

And it was hilarious.

“What… are you… are you laughing… Cas?”

“Yes,” he wheezed, doubling over and barely able to breathe from stifling himself.  It was all he could do to keep from cackling - they would be kicked out of the lab for creating a commotion.

“Are you okay?”

“Ohh -” Castiel tried to reply, but he couldn’t.  He snorted and buried his face again, choking on giggles.

“Come on, man!”  Dean pushed, but it was clear he was grinning now.

Not that Castiel could see; water was blurring his vision.

“It was an accident, okay,” Dean continued, patting Castiel’s knee like he had probably intended to do, originally.

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Castiel finally managed, wiping at his eyes.  His breath came in gasps and his stomach was still tight with laughter, but he could sit up now.

Dean _was_ grinning, his cheeks flushed red.  “I am sorry.”

“Please -” Castiel broke off, fighting to keep another bout down.  He breathed deep.  “Let’s just forget about it, shall we?”

“Yup, I can do that,” he nodded, eyes closed with embarrassment.

And they moved on to the task at hand with the modelling software in front of them, but every once in a while their eyes would meet and Dean would blush and Castiel would shake his head.  It didn’t end that day.

Instead of shy smiles in the halls, Dean’s greetings became vocal.  A playful “Hey, you,” often with a wink or a clap on the shoulder.

When they sat together, Castiel noticed that their ankles would sometimes touch.  Their tutoring sessions moved from the library, to the small cafe at the library entrance, to the large cafe on the other side of campus, with plush armchairs and reading nooks.

Dean would plop himself down right beside Castiel on a sofa, and their thighs would be touching, and neither of them would pull away for the rest of the evening.  They’d pretend to be completely occupied by their work, when in reality any place where Dean pressed up against him was just dancing with electricity.

He let Dean drive him off-campus, visiting his apartment to help him with the programming on a robotics project.  He let Dean come up into his dorm room for tutoring.

He let Dean take naps on his bed between classes.

The thing was, Dean was still really annoying.  It turned out he wasn’t actually a model, but he sure was cocky enough.  He was constantly spouting inappropriately sexual jokes, pop culture references that Castiel hadn’t the slightest clue about, he ranted ceaselessly about his old American muscle car.  And he was grossly affectionate.  As their study sessions became less formal, Dean _appeared_ less formal, a feat considering blue-collar-casual seemed to be all he owned.  He began showing up to Castiel’s dorm in what he could only describe as sleeping clothes: college sweatpants and a thin henley.  Like he was ready for a slumber party.

Dean was even incredibly intelligent and managed to ruin _that._  Way too application-oriented, theoretical concepts went right over his head; he was a very frustrating pupil.  He needed to be shown something, rather than just listening to an explanation like a normal person.

His clothes were annoying.  His neurosis about hairstyle was annoying.  His music was _very_ annoying.

Despite it all, Castiel honestly did not dislike him.  It made no sense whatsoever.

And apparently, it was only going to get worse.

\- -

It was exam week when he realized what the problem was.

They had stayed up all night studying, and Castiel had nodded off at some point.  When sunrise crept through the window, it jolted him awake again as he realized that he was sleeping next to a warm body.  The awful heat might have also had something to do with Castiel falling asleep in his clothes, now-wrinkled slacks and a thick polo shirt.  Dean, wearing even more layers, seemed to be in another world.  He remained thoroughly unconscious as Castiel shifted himself upright.

But he didn't move any further away.  He held still for a moment, counting the beats between each of Dean's breaths until he was certain that he really was sleeping.  Then he just leaned back and watched silently.

Dean's freakishly perfect features were still really annoying.  But it wasn't like he could help it any more than Castiel could help that his blue eyes constantly garnered inappropriate comments.  Yes, Castiel had already forgiven him for his appearance - but that didn't mean he particularly liked looking at Dean.

So, why he was staring in awe as his friend slept, Castiel had no idea.  In an effort to avoid admiring Dean's long, curling eyelashes, he caught himself counting freckles on the bridge of Dean’s nose.  Castiel made himself blink, shutting his eyes tight.

This was silly.  He really had to use the bathroom anyway; he was predictably stiff with the need, and it was so stuffy hot that on the whole he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.  Besides, if Dean shifted only a few inches, he would have discovered Castiel's current predicament and easily mistaken it for arousal.  Lord only knows what he would have done.

Yes.  Bathroom.  Castiel would get up and go.  Immediately.

But when he opened his eyes again Dean was staring right back at him.  It made Castiel's pulse go painfully erratic and suddenly he couldn't even think straight - he was consumed by an awareness of just how close their faces were.  He could _feel_ a gasp escape Dean's lips and ghost over him.  His breath was awful and stale, and Castiel didn't even mind...

That magnetic energy was at work again, and he was being pulled closer.

He threw himself in the opposite direction, planting his feet on the cold floor.  Dean must have been hot as a furnace, because the air was cooler up here, too.  It was sobering; Castiel felt in control of himself again.

"Cas?"

"Your breath is disgusting."

"Oh. Sorry," Dean mumbled.  "I didn't even realize I fell asleep here."

"Me either."  Castiel crossed the room to grab his shower bag without glancing back.  "You should go."

"Yeah, I've got to... you know..." Dean trailed off.

Castiel nodded, even though he didn't know at all.  He headed for the door, still not trusting himself to look back.

"Good luck today, Dean."

"You too, man.  Not that you need it."

He left Dean to see himself out, as he'd done many times before.  But this time, thoughts of Dean followed him to the showers.  Thoughts of freckles and lips that pouted in sleep.  And the relief, that he seemed to have escaped Dean's noticing his inconvenient morning erection - which was more bothersome than usual.  Even after he urinated, it wouldn't go away.

Perhaps it was because Dean was already on his mind that Castiel started worrying he would enter the bathroom to find him like this.  Dean might very well have to use the facilities before leaving the dorm.  Castiel's face grew hot at the idea;  the lack of privacy in his unit's bathroom had never bothered him before, but suddenly the walk to the showers at the other end of the room was daunting.

The suite was shared with three other students, and normally they left the bathroom door open out of convenience because they all happened to be men.  Castiel crept towards the bathroom door, peeking out down the hall to see whether anyone was in the lounge.  Thankfully, it was empty.  He closed the door as quietly as he could, so as not to draw attention to himself.  Anxiously, he stepped into the shower, praying that this would be over with before anyone else had to use the bathroom.

The lukewarm water did nothing to ease his heart rate, so he concentrated on some calming deep-breath exercises. They didn't work.  What was worse, his penis remained heavily swollen, adamantly jutting straight out from his body.

_Maybe I will have to stimulate it,_ he realized, going from irritated to irate in an instant.

It wasn't that he'd never attempted masturbation - he'd just never been able to succeed at it.  Stimulating his penis was simple enough, but the perfunctory act invariably exhausted his interest before long and Castiel had concluded that it was just not something he enjoyed.

Granted, a morning erection was not usually present for very long after he relieved his bladder.  And he couldn't very well stay in this condition all day; something had to be done.

Castiel resolved to make the effort.  He gripped the shaft of his penis, immediately wincing when the pull of his fingers caused a painful friction.  The water on his hands was too clear.  He paused to retrieve some soap from his things, thoroughly lathering his hands before returning to his task.

The slick of it worked wonders.  The circle of his fingers slipped easily over the sensitive ridge of his head, and it made Castiel's eyes shut tight of their own accord.  A noise might have escaped his throat, but he wasn't sure.  He bit his lip to keep his vocals in check as he continued his ministrations; it would be very uncomfortable if someone outside had to listen to him.

Castiel's hand started sliding faster, squeezing harder, as his body became accustomed to the sense of building pressure.  Soon he had to lean forward and brace himself against the wall with his free arm.  This time he consciously fought to keep his ragged breathing quiet.

_Woah, **not** boring_ , Castiel thought, dazed.  He'd never felt so barely in control; his jerks were rougher than he'd intended and it was all he could do just to keep himself standing.

He couldn't imagine what had ever caused him to give up during masturbation.  He didn't think he had the capacity to stop now if he wanted to - and he didn't.  He never wanted to stop.

Unfortunately, his body had other plans.  Orgasm overtook him without warning, making him choke on the air in his lungs with a grunt.  The sudden feeling of release was overwhelming.  Castiel rode through it in a fog, his hand pumping absently even though he was already finished.

He remained standing under the shower, breathing deep, until the water ran cold and he was shivering.  He had a feeling that something conclusive had occurred, a feeling he wanted to avoid.  Sure, he'd never been able to masturbate to orgasm before - but there didn't have to be some grand implications now that he had.

He realized that he was staring blankly at his own semen, splattered against the wall tiles, and quickly washed it all away.  He finished his shower posthaste and clambered out with a towel draped over his head - partly from cold, but mostly out of shame.

Masturbation in itself was not cause for embarrassment; Castiel understood the biology involved and had no problem with it.  Something else was causing that invisible weight on his chest - as he reached for his own bedroom door, it became crushing.  He couldn't face what was, or wasn't, on the other side of the door.

_Don't be illogical_ , he told himself. _This is my own room._

He pushed forward, his heart thumping, and the first thing he did was check that his bed was indeed empty.  Of course it was; Dean had announced that he was leaving.  But there was still the imprint of him, where he'd thrown the covers back and left them rumpled.

He was so untidy.  And when had Castiel started allowing Dean to sleep in his sheets?  He was certain they had begun all of this nonsense with a strict rule about staying on top of the bed, not in it.  It just felt wrong; he couldn’t even get into his own bed without showering and putting on clean bed clothes first.  Or at least, he used to be that way.  At some point, Dean had broken him of that, and now it seemed he didn’t care who he let dirty his sheets and leave his blankets in a sloppy mess.

Castiel ignored the impulse to lay down where Dean had been, instead he pulled the sheets straight and set them properly again.  He frowned at the sight of his study materials spread out where he'd left them last night, when he fell asleep against Dean.  Was it exhaustion that caused him to nod off without warning?  Or was it the way Dean radiated heat and just made everything feel so _cozy_ -

_Snap out of it, Novak_.

He had a final exam in less than two hours; and two more tomorrow, all of which would dictate his graduate scholarship for next year.  He couldn't afford such an asinine preoccupation.  He gathered his things and headed out of the building altogether.

He made it to the dining hall, cracked open his notes over a cup of coffee, and focused his thoughts onto one subject - _Am I homosexual?_

He physically startled at the unbidden question. _No, no!  Molecular biophysics._

But Castiel had already summoned the too-fresh memory of what he'd done in the shower, and his temperature skyrocketed.  He couldn't stop the thoughts that poured in association: of Dean's mouth inches from his, the pull that Castiel had felt to cover the space between them, to -

He shook his head, even shrugged out of his sweater vest to cool himself down. It was necessary to focus on his exams for now, anything else bore no significance.  It couldn't.

But thoughts of Dean stayed in the back of his mind as he made for his examination hall.  He remained uncomfortably warm and self-conscious, as if he was wearing a neon sign that said he'd touched himself that morning.  Mostly, he had this irrational fear that every corner he turned would have Dean behind it, who would see him and would immediately _know_.

He managed to complete his test and keep himself more or less on track for the rest of the day - until Dean texted him later that afternoon.  The sudden request to go “grab some grub" made Castiel perk up with excitement again when he'd only just settled down at the study centre.  He decided to ignore the text in favor of his exam practice.

But the next message indicated that Dean had visited his empty dorm room.

_"u r not at home"_ , it read.

The pang of longing Castiel felt wasn't entirely new to him.

_I’m at the library, come study with me_ , Castiel wanted to say.  What he typed was, " _Sorry can’t, studying_."

It was a whole new level of annoying, but Castiel knew what it was now.  He wasn't completely ignorant, after all.  It went against all reason, but it was clear as day: attraction.

He was attracted to Dean Winchester, _fixating_ on him.  And it wasn’t going away.

He turned off his phone to avoid further distraction; the silence made him think of Dean all the more.

He imagined Dean, giving that pout he sometimes showed when trying to convince Castiel to go somewhere with him.  He usually made some attempt to pretend that he didn't care one way or another.  That's what he was probably doing now, pretending Castiel's rejection didn't bother him.  Though, in all likelihood, it probably did.

And _that_ bothered Castiel.  The thought of Dean being disappointed had him all out of sorts.  Somewhere along the way, it had actually become difficult to deny him of even the most unavailing of requests.

There was eating; they shared most meals.  There was him ignoring Dean's mindless television habit for hours on end.  There was a lot of walking - he wasn't sure exactly where or why, but he could recall so much more of the campus layout than he'd ever seen before, and in his mind it was all accompanied by the running commentary that was Dean's incessant chatter.

It seemed that Dean had become a constant.  That Castiel could feel his absence as acutely as his presence, and both were terribly distracting - was attraction this pervasive for everyone?

_What a waste of energy_ , Castiel grumbled inwardly.  It was no mystery why he refrained from this nonsense until now.  But he had never expected the inconvenience to come from a _male_... he'd never shown homosexual tendencies before.

Castiel was staring at the same equation he'd sat down with.  He rubbed at his eyes and his hair as if to rub his thoughts of Dean away.

He really did not have time for this.

He resolved to postpone the sexuality crisis until the end of the week.  The term was almost over, and he’d done all he could to help Dean prepare for his exams.  The rest of - whatever this was - it could wait.

Castiel tried not to think about the fact that he would be leaving in a matter of days.  His research job back home would have him on a plane this weekend.  Besides, if he could just avoid Dean until then, maybe all of this would disappear entirely by the time he came back for the start of next term.

Yes, he could make it until the end of the week.

Castiel sat two more exams the next day, and one more the day after, before turning his phone back on.  He expected to receive a flood of texts from Dean, but there were only two.  The more recent simply read, “ _everything going ok?_ ”

Castiel frowned.  He had been braced for irritation, but all he felt now was guilt.  He was unprepared for that.  The avoidance plan went right out the window; Castiel’s impulse was to reply immediately.  He was filled with the urge to assure Dean that his silence was only due to exam week.

But he stopped before he'd gotten the words out, realising that they were not true.  The real problem was not the exams, not even Dean himself.  It was _Castiel_ ; he had never allowed anyone to affect him the way Dean did.

_"I need some time"_ , he sent.

He was going to work out whatever was going on before blindly bringing Dean into it.  Dean deserved that much.  First of all, did Castiel's behavior really mean that he was attracted to men?  The hypothesis was simple enough to test.  He headed straight to his dorm, determined to find answers.

He'd never gone looking for erotic material before, so he expected it to take a few tries.  Fortunately, a simple google search for ' _homosexual pornography_ ' supplied a decent list of informative links, and he quickly acquired the more colloquial search terms that would yield actual pornographic images.

Castiel breathed with relief; he'd never encountered any area of research that was so easy to navigate.  However, it became evident that his task was not quite so simple.  The results for common terms like ' _hot gays_ ' and ' _gay sex_ ' were mostly insipid, if they weren't downright unsanitary.

It was not a good sign - if there were enough consumers to run an entire industry on these, Castiel's immediate distaste meant that he was the odd one out.  This, of course, had been his initial stance on sexuality in general: he did not have the time or patience for it.  Until his fixation on Dean Winchester disproved the asexual theory entirely, that had been his assumption.

It was possible that Castiel's preferences were more specific than just gender.  He understood the psychology of fetishes; it was likely that his predilections were inhibiting normal sexual expression.

He consulted a list of common 'kinks', as they were called, and explored his responses to them one by one.  Domination and bondage images were appalling.  The fixation on feet or ejaculating onto a person's face were admittedly easier to look at, but they just weren't things Castiel could rationalize.  It was all so degrading.

Then he discovered the unexpected meaning of the term 'water sports', and abruptly closed his browser window, insulted. Whatever his affliction may be, fetish was certainly not a part of it.

_Perhaps videos will be more effective_ , he considered.  He switched to a video search, which presented him with several thumbnail images to choose from.  The titles were confusing.

"S-T-R - Eight Hunk? Ah, ' _Straight Hunk_ '," Castiel read, narrowing his eyes at the childish truncation and scrolling past it impatiently.

The next, no more promising, also had him grumbling out loud.  " ' _Rough Gay... Fuck Sex'_?  That doesn't make grammatical sense."

They went on in this manner until Castiel found one that boasted a ' _Gay Couple Making Love_ '.  It had a small preview image of two nude men embracing, seemingly appropriate, so he clicked on it.

But it was not appropriate at all.  The men featured in the video were clearly not a couple, as advertised.  They were visibly uncomfortable touching each other, but both were equally flirtatious with the camera - or the viewers.  They kissed roughly with wide-open mouths, as if each trying to devour the other.  Castiel realized his lip was curling at the sight, so he skipped forward in the video until he found the two men naked and mounted.

It was abysmal.  The man on top was like a dog humping furniture, completely blank, hardly focused on his task.  The man being penetrated was obviously not enjoying the act, but he kept biting out encouragement as if reading off a teleprompter.

Castiel barely lasted a minute before he couldn't stand to watch anymore.  He hit the back button, disheartened by the sight of the same list of absurd titles.

It seemed Castiel had hit a dead end.  He sat back from his computer, closing his eyes to give them rest.  Fruitless research was not new to him, but rarely was it this frustrating.  His experiment had thus far revealed zero homosexual tendencies, and yet there was the obvious anomaly: Dean.  Could yesterday morning have been a total fluke - just sleep deprivation and an overfull bladder?  Aesthetically pleasing features such as Dean's were wont to inspire admiration; it wasn't  necessarily sexual in nature.

Castiel's phone gave an alert; it was Dean, as if on cue.

_"np. i'm here if u wanna talk"._ The abbreviation meant 'No problem', Castiel had learned.

The message itself was too respectful to cause Castiel any offence - but it _did_.  He threw the phone onto his bed, inexplicably frustrated.  Dean's presence confounded him, even - no, _especially -_ from a distance. A simple text message had him all worked up.  Excited, compelled to reply, straining not to.  He used to go weeks without using his cellphone once; but two days without contacting Dean had become unbearable.

It couldn't be coincidence.

Castiel focused on his pornography research with renewed vigour.  If this was the pain of attraction, if he was even the slightest bit gay, he needed to know.

It wasn't long this time before he found what he was looking for.  He should have immediately recognized the boy's heavy, pouting lips and splattering of freckles across his cheeks for the tells that they were, but it was the boy's verve that drew Castiel in.

He had ended up on an amateur site where subjects uploaded videos themselves.  According to his attestation, user _JennyThunder_ was a keen exhibitionist, and one of the few that Castiel actually believed.  Whether or not he himself was the uploader, the Dean look-alike on Castiel's screen was overtly eager to perform.

The boy was younger than Dean, with dark hair, his eyes too vain and the wrong color besides.  His jaw was too soft, though it had promise; he would develop as handsomely in a few years.  For now, though, it was his expression that had Castiel second-guessing the benefits of masturbation.  As eye-opening as his experience the day before had been, he now suspected that there could be so much more to it.  It was only his first time actually bringing himself to orgasm after all.

Watching this boy, who was flushed a hot red even though he was fully clothed still, palming the stiff shape at the front of his sweatpants, Castiel was certain he'd done it all wrong.  Nothing like the way _JennyThunder_ did it now.

The boy claimed to be filming himself with his roommates in the next room, so he held his breath to keep them from hearing - it was almost as if the video was muted, but then air would catch in his throat and make him give a pained sigh every now and then.  If Castiel didn't know better, he'd think the boy really was suffering, with the way he squirmed, wincing, fighting to keep his eyes from shutting closed.

The boy reached up to his collar, pulling at it as if to alleviate his climbing temperature.  It was obvious that the real source of his problem was the relentless way he kneaded at his erection, but he didn't let up one bit.  He even seized the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head so that it pulled his shoulders tight while baring his chest and stomach.  Still, his right hand slid up and down over his groin, as Castiel watched his cheeks grow ever hotter.

Then the boy's fingers moved to the waistband of his pants, slipping so slightly under them and _lifting_ \- Castiel startled, his heart leaping into his throat, and he paused the video.  It didn't do him much good; there was just the still image of this boy, with his gaze frozen where his own hand worked its way into inappropriate places.

_Wait, this is it,_ Castiel realized _.  I'm having a reaction._

He couldn't bring himself to play the video again.  He tried, hovering the mouse over the play button, panic rising at the thought of that obscene image in front of him moving any further.  It made no sense; he'd  been browsing various positions of anal penetration for the better part of an evening now.  What about this boy was terrifying him so severely?

That was when he recognized the resemblance to Dean.

Castiel was suddenly hit with every thought of Dean that he had ignored or overlooked - that the first time he'd ever seen Dean, his beauty was belligerent against Castiel's good senses - that Dean had made clear his intentions to monopolize Castiel - that he had allowed just that to happen - that having Dean in his dorm room, in his bed, sleeping against him, it felt so right and natural and - _perfect_.  He vividly recalled waking up next to Dean, that impulse to connect with him, which he had immediately stifled.

He felt it again now, imagined staring into Dean's wide eyes, his penis stiff as it often was upon waking.  Instead of pulling away, he imagined sliding forward, pressing against Dean where he was also suffering from a morning erection.

Had he wanted to do that in the first place?  The idea of _feeling_ Dean's arousal was dizzying.  Bewildered, Castiel placed his palm against the front of his slacks, where his penis was hard again, brazenly straining upwards.  It was nowhere near enough stimulation for him.

Castiel moved his hand the way the boy in the video had, rubbing coarsely against his erection through the fabric.  The zipper in between made him wince, and it occurred to him that sweatpants were the wiser choice for such activity.  So the exhibitionist in the video had made a specific wardrobe decision.  Smart.

Castiel opened his eyes, clicked on the video where the boy was frozen.  He had to learn to do this properly, and Jenny Thunder knew what he was doing.

That was it.  Castiel had found his 'kink'.  After studying the video of Dean's pornographic look-alike (and finding sweet release again well before the end of it), he had looked up the psychology behind the exhibitionism fetish, and its counterpart: voyeurism.

It was well past midnight by the time he felt adequately informed, and Castiel was more exhausted than he could ever remember being - but he was also impatient.  He wanted to send Dean a text message as was their custom, but it was more than likely that Dean was asleep and wouldn't receive his summons until morning.

Castiel didn't want to wait until morning; he didn't want to wait another minute.  He needed to share his findings.

He shed his slacks and pulled out a pair of college sweatpants which he had never worn.  The new function he had found for them was so exciting, he could have easily sat down right then and masturbated on the spot.  But that had to wait.

Castiel called a taxi; the night bus only came every hour, and he did not have time for that right now.  As it was, the ten minute wait before he actually made it to Dean's apartment was agonizing enough.  It was an older building with incredibly low security - a blessing.  The front entrance had actually been left propped open tonight, which was not uncommon, with a small stone wedged into the doorframe.

Finally, Castiel found himself in front of Dean's apartment door, and it opened to reveal - _not Dean_.

Castiel frowned up at the young man who had answered the door.  He was considerably taller than Castiel, which was saying something.

"Can I help you?" the boy asked, clearly confused but polite nonetheless.  He glanced up and down the hall, then back to Castiel.

"You must be Sam," Castiel reasoned.  "It is very nice to meet you, yet I have some urgent business with your brother."

He seemed amused now.  "Dean?  Sure, if you can get him to come out of his room."

"That will not be necessary."  When Sam stood aside to grant entry for Castiel, he quickly took it, passing him before stopping.  "I don't know which room is his."

"On the right," Sam indicated at their hallway, his tone suspicious.  "Should I... step outside for a bit?"

Castiel considered it.  "Dean might appreciate that."

Sam seemed surprised.  " _Oh_ ," he stuttered. Then he jumped into action, pulling on a jacket.

"Okay, tell Dean, uh," he stopped again.  "Actually don't - don't mention me, I'm just gunna... go... outside."  He pointed at the front door.

It occurred to Castiel that Dean's brother was uncomfortable, that maybe he shouldn't have been so frank in answering him.  What was done was done, though, so he turned away from Sam, who seemed to be looking for something, and made for Dean's bedroom without further ado.

He found Dean in bed, though clearly not asleep; he hadn't yet realized that Castiel was the one at his door, and only grumbled at him to leave, without looking up.  He called him _Sam_.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, by way of announcement.

Dean immediately sat up.  He was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, which Castiel had to look away from.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I have a serious problem.  And I need your help."

"Woah, Cas, what's wrong -?"  Dean moved to get up, but Castiel gestured at him to stay.

"Wait," Cas said.  He stepped in and closed the door behind him.  "Just hear me out."

Dean obeyed, sitting back down.  "What's wrong, Cas?"

"It's you, Dean."

"What did I do?"

That wasn't a question Castiel was prepared for.  "Nothing - or, everything," he said, ineloquent, frustrated with his own answer.

He hushed Dean, who was no doubt about to ask another impossible question, with a sharp "Shh!"

Dean floundered, but did not speak.

Castiel took a deep breath to steady himself.  "I have just discovered that I am not, as I had thought for the longest time, completely asexual."

Dean's eyes went wide, but he quietly waited for Castiel to finish.  Thank God.

"After conducting some research, I have concluded that I have a fairly specific fetish, or so it seems.  During the past week this condition has caused me some - some trouble.  I believe the root of this trouble is our," Castiel gestured between the two if them, on opposite sides of the room, and his throat closed on him.  He started again, forcing out the words, "Our relationship."

Dean started to say something, but stopped himself.  He bit his lip, and watched Castiel  intently now.

"So, I come to you now with a proposition.  If -" taking another breath, Castiel forced himself to speak while his face overheated from the exertion - "if you are agreeable, Dean, I think independant mutual masturbation would help my condition significantly."

It was a moment before Dean gathered his words. "Are you - you want me to jerk you off?"

"No," Castiel snapped, irritable.  "Just do yourself."

"And you -?"

"I'll do myself."

"But together?  At the same time?"

"Yes," Castiel replied impatiently.  " _Now_ , preferably.  Your brother even left the apartment for us."

Dean's face turned a little white.  "You told Sam about this?"

"No, I didn't tell him, I just - he asked if he should - no, that's not - _what is your answer, Dean?_ "

Dean fell silent again.  Castiel let him weigh his options.  It really was a big favor to ask of someone, one Castiel himself wouldn't be able to perform for just anybody.  He had considered offering Dean money, the way Dean paid him for their study sessions, but he didn't want either of them to become complicit in prostitution.

Besides, that was not what Castiel needed.  This wasn't just about sex.  It was undeniably all about _Dean_.  Dean, and the absurd effect he had on Castiel.

Now Dean was shifting, moving onto his knees in the bed.  He seemed to have made his choice.

"Yeah, okay," he said slowly.  "Get over here and let's do this already."


	2. the B Side

There was something about Castiel Novak that Dean could not ignore.  He didn’t know just what it was, but it was freaking _magnetic_.  It didn’t really help that the guy was ridiculously attractive, and had this intense gaze that could make you forget your own name if he looked at you long enough.

And it definitely didn’t help that the guy was so antisocial he was nearly a recluse - a stare-off, sure, but actual conversation?  Forget it.  It was his second year at their grad school, and Dean could count on one hand the number of times Cas had directly replied to him.

Unfortunately for Dean, he’d always had a thing for nerdy guys.  When it came to girls, his type was easy to find and easy to collude with.  Usually the ladies knew what they wanted and how they wanted it.  But his encounters with men were more rare, always full of stutters and awkward fumbling.  Why he went for social outcasts when it came to guys, Dean would never understand.  And there was Cas, epitome of all that was lame in his collared shirts and freaking _daily sweater vests_.  Dean should have been embarrassed for him, not fawning over him!

He wished he wasn’t like this, honestly, but any time he ran into Cas, there would be that flash of eye contact and suddenly Dean was like a moth to the light.  And nevermind the guy’s _voice_ , bitter yet solemn - whatever it was Dean just couldn’t get enough of it.  And Cas, he was a stingy motherfucker with his words.

So of course, when he spied Cas posting fliers to a student board on his way to class, Dean couldn’t help but check it out.  And when the text on the little sheet of paper in front of him promised that Cas would actually open his mouth and speak, Dean was all over it.

He ripped the page down, so no one else could find Cas’ phone number, and jogged after him.  Cas was already seated in the lecture room, so Dean quickly slid in next to him, greeting him while trying to keep it casual.

 _Try to keep it casual_ , he repeated inwardly, wincing at the command. Trying this hard wouldn’t even occur to him if Cas was a girl.  Why did boys make Dean so inept?

But then Cas glared at him, and Dean lost his train of thought.

“Winchester,” he acknowledged, turning away to stare straight ahead again.

Normally nerves would have silenced Dean by now.  But this was important, so he made himself keep talking.  “I hear you’re a decent tutor?”

Cas immediately rolled his eyes, holding up the rest of his fliers.  “Only time will tell, since I’ve just posted these five minutes ago.”

 _Shit, he must have twenty copies there_ \- that meant at least twenty people with Cas’ phone number!  Dean instinctively reached out to take them away, earning himself another scowl from Cas.

He took them anyway, plastering a grin on his face.  “Hah!  So what do you say, Cas?”

Cas went quiet then, gazing instead at the fliers in his hand.  Dean was afraid for a moment that he was going to actually get angry and take them back, post them up all over the university, build himself a flock of cute undergrad girls who would convince him to accept tutoring fees in the form of services rendered instead -

“Alright.”

“Wh- alright?”  Dean repeated stupidly, dragged out of his jealous rumination.  “You mean, alright you’ll help me?”

“Yes.  When would you like to start?”  Cas asked, digging for something in his book bag.

“Yesterday,” Dean smirked, hoping those blue eyes would settle on him again.

Cas was scrolling through something on his phone.  He didn’t look up.  Damnit.

“I am available after 6:00 tonight.  Library okay?”

“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, that works.”

“Done.”

And Cas didn’t so much as glance at Dean for the rest of the lecture, not even when Dean tried to engage him again on their way out.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” he called as Cas speed walked away.

But he lifted one hand in an almost-wave, indicating that he had at least heard Dean.  Just that was enough to make Dean smile like a dork.  He was going to _meet_ with Cas.  Unbelievable.

When the time came, though, it turned out that Cas was all work and no play.

“That’s irrelevant,” he stated, in answer to the infamously difficult question: ‘ _How are you doing?_ ’

Dean was speechless for a moment.

“What is the nature of your problem?”

“Huh?”  Dean took the seat across from him, his eloquence possibly due to the record amount of eye contact they were racking up.

They were in the library, six o’clock, very punctual.  Cas had outright refused to go grab coffees beforehand, so Dean might have also been itching for some caffeine right about then.

“Today.  You indicated that you were…” Cas sighed, lifting his hands to make quotation gestures, “ ‘crap’ at ‘math’.”

Dean couldn’t help chuckling, even though he knew Cas was far from joking.  “Yeah, right, I was maybe exaggerating,” Dean admitted.

“I assumed as much,” Cas retorted.  “So what do you need help with?”

“Well, I can’t - I mean - I’m not good at _reading_ math,” Dean tried to explain, waving his hands around stupidly.  He dropped them to the table.

Cas seemed thoroughly unamused.  But he was staring straight at Dean, and his eyes were so icy fucking hot that it was impossible to focus.

“Why don’t we just look at an example?” Cas indicated at Dean’s book bag.

Yes.  Yes, that was a good idea.

“Is that okay?”

Oh, fuck.  Dean forgot to reply out loud.

“Yes, great idea,” he said.  He hurried to pull out his textbook on quantum theory.

 _Get it together, Winchester_ , he berated himself inwardly.

But apparently Dean was incapable of getting it together.  In the course of the next week or so, he managed to score several sessions with Cas.  And it seemed every time, he was doing these _stupid_ things - sometimes it was mild offenses, like accidentally kicking Cas’ foot under a table.  Other times, Dean would do something absolutely horrific like blindly patting at Cas’ knee without looking to verify whether it was really his crotch that Dean's hand had found.

Cas was surprisingly indifferent to being accidentally groped.  So, Dean took advantage of such, naturally testing his limits.

He tried hooking his foot behind Cas', casually as if he didn't know what he was doing.  It should have been obvious to Cas, who gave no indication that he'd even noticed.  He was suggesting a syntax fix (he was wrong, Dean's script was solid), and Dean had to outright stare just to get Cas to actually look at him again.

When he did, Dean reeled - _Careful what you wish for,_ he thought, his mind going blank.

And Cas just smirked at him before going back to the model on the screen in front of them.  Footsies still intact.

Dean lost his nerve suddenly, finding himself unable to push any more.  Cas' intimidating balance of pliant and steadfast was too confusing to navigate.  Honestly Dean had never been all over a guy like this without scoring a hookup already.  He was sitting there going half hard, and Cas didn't seem to care.  Was he letting Dean suffer in silence?  Did he even realise that their proximity was getting him so worked up?

It was a strange, foreign territory, flirting with Cas.  Dean thought he'd never get enough of it.

He quickly booked another date - that is, for a study session - and again lost the subtlety battle for a more intimate location.  That was fine, Dean could work with a library setting.  Hell, if it meant listening to Cas talk sweet, dirty calculus to him, he could work with any setting.

Dean might have been smitten, just a little bit.  But could anyone really blame him when Castiel fucking Novak kept looking him in the eye and giving knowing, sideways smiles?  No.  Dean was only a man.  It was too much to ask anyone to resist.

So they met the next day, too.  This time, Dean arrived with a conviction.

"I would kill for a cup of joe," he heaved, reaching Cas' table and leaning on the back of the free seat instead of sitting in it.

Cas didn't even glance up.  "You should have gotten one before coming," he said, not for the first time.

"Why don't we just shift over to the cafe?"

"It's quieter here."

"I just passed it on my way in, totally empty -"

Cas finally looked away from his work, fixing Dean with that intense stare.  It gave him shivers.

"C'mon, man, I _need_ a coffee today," Dean complained - definitely not a whine.

For a second, it seemed as though Cas might snap at him.  But when he spoke it was calm, almost indifferent, as if he hadn't been shutting Dean down on the cafe suggestion every single time.  "Very well," he said.

It didn't even feel like a victory.  Maybe that was why Dean was more bold than he had planned, insisted that they sit at the bar in front of the window.  He'd been sitting across from Cas in their library meets, but now he was settling into a corner with a hot cup of caffeine and none other than Castiel crowded in next to him.  Their elbows kept bumping, even.

It was actual bliss.

"You sure you won't have anything?" Dean asked, sipping happily at his drink.

"I had coffee this morning."  Cas was already opening his book again.

"Suit yourself," Dean said, copying him and pulling out his books, too.  He let his knee rest against Cas' leg.

Cas didn't mention it once.

It was a couple hours before they'd gone through the entirety of Dean's assignment.  He'd only paid for one hour, so by the time they wrapped up, between the overtime and the amount of physical contact they'd clocked in, Dean was elated.  And when he was giddy, he got dumb.

 _I can do this_ , he thought, stupidly.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes." He paused in standing from his seat, settling back down.

Dean made a concerted effort not to look as anxious as he felt.  He pushed his words out with a shrug, as if that could make him care any less.  "Would you wanna -" _spit it out, spit it out_ , "go out with me?"

Cas drew his eyebrows together in confusion, and the look crushed Dean's spirits in an instant.  Of course it would turn out that Cas wasn't gay, and Dean had probably just ruined everything.  Panicking, he started talking again when Cas opened his mouth to reply.

"Nevermind, it's not a big deal," he blurted, so fast he almost didn't hear Cas' question.

"Out where?"

Dean sputtered, kicking himself.  Fucking _boys_.  Dean had no game when it came to asking out guys.

"Oh.  Just, you know.  Dinner.  Whatever," he managed, too eager to his own ears.  He had a hard time caring.  "Is it really okay with you?"

Cas nodded, reassuringly.  "Are you hungry?"

 _Woah, right now_?  Dean's heart jumped.

"Starving," he heard himself say.  Slight exaggeration, if they were talking about food.  But Dean really wasn't thinking about food.

So they went on their first date.  Castiel indicated that he enjoyed the pizza at a small joint on campus, so they just walked over.  Together.  It's not like they were holding hands or anything, but Dean was flying high just the same.  Him and Cas.  No books.  They talked about - _not science_.  It was amazing.

Cas was predictably prude afterwards, but that was just fine by Dean.  Honestly, he hadn't been expecting a goodnight kiss or anything.  And he could totally court a guy properly if he had to, especially a guy like Cas.  Damn, he was worth it.

He walked Cas over to his dorm building like a real gentleman.  Then, instead of even going in for a hug, Dean just backed off respectfully, telling Cas what a good time he'd had tonight.  He made sure to text him when he got home, to reiterate that sentiment.

Castiel instantly replied with a, ' _Me, too_.'

Dean got a little carried away with the 'Me too'.  He might have jerked off over it, imagining Cas doing the same alone in his dorm room, whispering "Me too."

So what?  It wasn't the first time Dean had used Cas for fap material.

Cas was unsurprisingly hard to take out, though.  He kept insisting that he was busy until Dean suggested a study date.  He was slow, too, when it came to giving up on the fucking library.  The weirdest thing was, when Dean offered him the usual amount for one hour, Cas accepted without a trace of humour.

He continued doing so, accepting money for their next date and the one after.  It seemed Cas was only willing to date Dean under the pretext of tutoring.  Maybe he had a thing for keeping Dean as a student?  Dean could work with that.  In fact, the idea gave him all sorts of new fantasies for his alone time.  Which he had a lot more of, thanks to Cas' square attitude.

Dean had a hard time really caring, at first.  He was seeing Cas every day.  He was getting all kinds of cuddles, so long as they got the sofa seat in their cafe.  But every time he dropped Cas off at his dorm, waiting to be invited up - certain that Cas was dying to get busy as much as Dean was - Cas would suddenly chicken out.  
He got cold, and dismissed Dean with a curt goodbye before running off upstairs and leaving Dean with the worst blue balls.

Dean could only take so much.  It was the third freaking time, and Cas was getting all aloof before they'd even left the building.  It was starting to look like Dean would have to take the lead if he wanted anything to happen.

He swallowed nervously, before reaching out to hook his fingers in between Cas'.

"Cas," he murmured, not sure why this was so hard.  He was almost worried that Cas would pull away, but of course he didn't.  He turned to look at Dean curiously, standing way too close to leave room for any more doubts.

It was enough to make Dean lightheaded. _I'm the luckiest guy in the world_ , he thought.

"What is it, Dean?"  Cas was staring at him so intently, Dean thought he might finally get a kiss right there on the spot.

"Do you think we could -" _take this up to your room?_ Dean couldn't just ask to be invited over.  Not with Cas fucking breathing his air like this.  He was leaning in so close Dean was sure he was about to close the gap between their faces and just _do it already_.

But he didn't.  They both stood there like idiots waiting for the other to give a signal. _Goddamnit_.

Dean took a breath, charged ahead, wincing as he asked, "Would you wanna come over to my place?"

" _Oh_ ," Cas nodded, knowingly, and Dean felt a rush of relief when he smiled.  "Your robotics project."

"Huh?"  Dean faltered.  That was a euphemism Dean hadn't heard yet.  Leave it to Cas to use the nerdiest lingo imaginable for - _oh!  My robotics project_.

"You mentioned that bug in the program," Cas explained, and as off-putting as the topic change was, Dean couldn't just let that slide.

"It's not a bug, it just needs some tweaking, I told you it's got to be the wiring -"

"And I told _you_ that it is obviously a coding issue."

"You haven't even seen it!"

Cas replied gently, patronizing.  "You are always sloppy with syntax, Dean."

And that was it.  All thoughts of making out were gone; Dean had his honour to defend.  Cas was treating him like he'd never built a freaking robot before.

They argued during the entire drive, which was so amusing that Dean forgot to freak out about the fact that Cas was in his car for the first time ever.  The significance didn't even occur to him until well after they had dived into the program Dean had written, after Cas zeroed in on the problem with Dean's coding, and they went a little overboard making edits for efficiency.  Cas had a real talent for this stuff.  Then Cas offhandedly asked where the bathroom was, and Dean opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly he couldn't speak.

 _Son of a fucking bitch, Cas is in my apartment_.

"Dean?"  Cas raised his eyebrows.

Dean forced himself to say, "Yeah, uh, first door on the left."

"Thank you," Cas said, getting up.

Dean just stared after him.  How stupid could he be?  Making tonight all about his work, when - shit, Cas probably assumed he wasn't even interested now.  Dean wanted to break something.  He walked away from the project, so it wouldn't be in danger.

He checked the time.  They'd been at it for a couple hours already. _Fuck, Sammy will be done work soon_.

Dean had squandered away the perfect window of time to score some action.  With _Castiel fucking Novak_ , geeking out instead of getting it on.

Cas returned to find Dean, sitting on the couch and fuming.  He passed the workstation Dean had set up in the corner and sat down beside him.

"Well, that was a lot of fun," Cas admitted, yawning and stretching a bit.  It pushed his body flush against Dean and made it nearly impossible not to climb on top of him.

Dean had to stop himself from groaning out loud in frustration.  He could still take Cas into his bedroom, so Sam wouldn't interrupt anything when he got home.  He didn't want to intimidate Cas, though; they were supposed to be going slow.

The problem was, they were currently moving slower than cold molasses going uphill.

"My brother will be home soon," Dean bit out.  Cas could make the decision, for fuck's sake.

"I should be going, anyway."

_Damnit, wrong choice, Cas!_

But Dean had to accept it.  If he pushed Cas too much and ended up losing him entirely, he'd never forgive himself.  He sighed in defeat.

"I'll drive you home," Dean said, getting up.  There was always the chance that Cas would invite him over, too.

"That is not necessary," Cas said quickly, getting up as well.  He headed for the chair where he'd placed his jacket.

It was definitely not an invite to the dorms.  Dean tried not to look crushed.  He tried to insist, "No seriously, it's like a twenty minute walk and it's already late -"

"Dean.  I know how to take a bus."

Just like that, shot down.  It was just going to be Dean and his hand again tonight.  Dean conceded, following him to the door.  But Cas stopped to stare at him when it was time to say goodbye, making Dean's stupid heart jump with excitement.

He was going to finally get that kiss after all.  Exhilarated, Dean gladly swooped in for it, putting his hands on Cas' shoulders and closing his eyes and - he met with air.

He opened his eyes in confusion as Cas' body connected with his.  Cas' arms slid around Dean's waist for the shortest second and then he pulled away again.

"Goodnight, Dean," he said quickly, and slipped out the door without another word.

Just a hug.

But hell yeah, Dean would count it.  He quickly holed himself up in his room, so bitter that he didn't want to have to look at his brother when he got home.  The night had left him unbelievably horny, and he was so undone over Cas that, yeah, he needed to nut because of a freaking _hug_.

Dean seriously needed to get him alone again.

He tried to, a couple days later, when he was walking Cas home again.  He was braver this time, now that he knew Cas was at least ready - that they just needed the right mood.  To be alone.

So he asked outright.  "Can I stay with you tonight, Cas?"

"Sure," he said, way too easily.

 _Is this his way of teasing?_  Dean frowned in suspicion.

"I'm actually going to be busy for the whole night, so if you need somewhere to sleep, my room will be empty."

"Wh-what," Dean managed to say, totally misstepping.  It wasn't at all what he had expected to hear and yet - Cas was inviting Dean to sleep in his bed?  That was too much, that - hell, yeah, Dean could go for that, but - but -

"Where are you going?"

If Dean had known how the night would turn out, he never would have asked.  He would have just taken the offer and - and what?  There was no avoiding the inevitable.

The event was a live streaming of some demonstration workshop at BITS - a university in India.  One of Cas' profs was accepted and she had invited some of her students to watch.  Dean was kind of annoyed that Cas hadn't invited him to begin with.  He quickly corrected that.

Needless to say, they decided to spend another night _working_ , on the subject of engineering instead of the subject of each other's bodies.  It wasn't a bad thing, necessarily; such a limited time opportunity, and it was so informative - learning what kind of a kisser Cas was, that was a class he could take later.

Or so Dean thought.

He was so wrapped up in the excitement of the presentation that he wasn't paying much attention during introductions.  The prof who was hosting the whole thing was Naomi Tapping, that much registered with Dean if only because she was well known in their school.  There were some of Cas' classmates there, people from his program - nuclear science - Dean didn't remember a single name.

He was vaguely aware that Cas did not introduce him as his boyfriend, but he honestly didn't expect that anyway.  Dean was too preoccupied to give it a second thought.

The group was small, maybe a dozen, and they came well-stocked with caffeine.  There was free coffee, and someone had brought a couple cases of energy drinks.  It really was an all-nighter.

It wasn't until some halftime break that Dean actually spoke to one of the other students.  Dean didn’t even know his name.

The guy opened with, “So you’re gay, right?”

It was more than awkward, as Dean had his dick out at that moment.  They were each standing at a urinal, thankfully with a free one between them.  Dean startled and shuffled to the side anyway, turning away as if the guy was scoping on him

“N-no,” Dean stammered, a knee jerk reaction.  “I mean, yes, but I’m - I'm bi -”

He was unphased.  “Want to get your dick sucked?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”  See, this was Dean’s problem.  Truth be told, this guy, presumably Cas’ classmate, was actually pretty cute.  Theoretically, Dean should have at least considered it - and then promptly informed the poor man that he was taken.  As it was, Dean’s face went bright red and his tone was undeniably offended.  Like this guy had insulted Dean instead of coming on to him.

The guy shrugged, like bathroom blowjob offers were nothing to blush over.  He moved to do up his pants, stepping back, and Dean realized he was finished pissing, too.  He put himself away quickly.

As they moved to the sinks, the guy pressed on.  “You don’t need to do anything.  And I can make it quick.”

“That’s -” Dean stopped the words _very nice of you_ from coming out of his mouth here - “but I have a boyfriend.  Castiel, actually.  He’s your, uh, I guess he’s your classmate - grumpy guy, seriously blue eyes?”

“Yeah, I know Castiel.  Funny, I asked if you were with him and he said no.”

“Really,” Dean said, the statement hitting him like a punch.  “Maybe he wants us on the down low - don’t suppose you could keep this between us?”

He just frowned at Dean, shaking his head.  “No, I mean, I asked Castiel if you were _available_.  He practically told me to come after you.”

“Huh.”  Dean stopped in his tracks, just shy of the restroom entrance.  “Say, what was your name again?”

“Aaron.”

“Aaron.  Right.  Well, thanks, but no thanks.”

Aaron just shrugged again and they exited the bathroom separately, walking back into the lecture hall as if the conversation had never happened.  Only it _had_.

Dean went straight toward Cas.  “Cas, can I talk to you for a second?”

He looked up from his notes in surprise.  “Dean.  What are you doing back so fast?”

Dean had thought he would pull him aside, but Cas’ cavalier question suddenly set him off.  “Did you tell Aaron to follow me into the freaking bathroom?”

Cas’ eyebrows drew together.  “I guess I did send him your way.  Why, did he upset you?”

“Cas -” Dean struggled, at a loss for words.

He just looked worried now.  It wasn’t an expression that came easy to Cas, and it made Dean’s resolve melt just looking at him.  “You know what, never mind.”

Cas was about inquire further, but seemed to change his mind and just went back to his notes.  The presentation went online again ten minutes later, but Dean had a hard time following anything that was being said.  He knew now; he had simply never been on Cas’ radar.  Maybe Cas didn’t even _have_ a radar.

He was sitting there with that intense focus concentrated on the presentation.  He was taking diligent notes, typing a mile a minute.  He didn't glance over at Dean once, didn't even seem to notice he was being stared at. _God, his profile is freakishly perfect_ -

Dean gave himself a shake.  This wasn't doing him any good.  So he went home early, with little response from Cas.

That weekend, Dean found himself making the trip out to the club where his friend bar tended - not only for the discount Benny gave him, but because he needed someone to complain to.  Cas had him all out of sorts in a way none of his exes had ever caused him.  And apparently they hadn't even been dating to begin with.

Benny was only mildly helpful.  He cut Dean off before he could get adequately drunk.  Then he suggested that Dean hadn't been clear enough about his intentions.

"Does he even realise you've got the full pendulum motion?"

"The _what_?"

Benny raised one hand, making a swinging motion with his index finger.  "Both ways," he said.

It made Dean grumble, "That's a horrible metaphor, don't let me see it again."

Benny just shrugged.  "Well, does he?"

"Yeah, he-" but something stopped him.  Hadn't he made every attempt in the book to let Cas know what he had on his mind?  Dean wracked his brain, trying to recall ever saying anything explicit.

He might have mentioned Busty Asian Beauties a few times too many.  But surely that didn't cancel out actually coming on to the guy on a consistent basis...

' _No, I've never felt the need to watch pornography,_ ' he recalled Cas saying once, stony-faced, without so much as looking away from his laptop screen.

That's right, the guy was fucking clueless.  It was totally plausible that he couldn't register flirtations at all.  Dean buried his face in his hands.

"I guess that's a no," Benny sighed.  The sound of a glass touching the table made Dean peek between his fingers.  "Last one, Romeo."

So Benny wasn't much help.  Dean went back and continued the tutoring lessons with Cas after all.  But everything about them just felt so bleak for Dean. Cas even invited him up to the dorms, and Dean couldn’t find the gumption get properly excited.  It was a tutoring session, nothing more.

They even sat together on Cas’ bed - _his actual bed_ \- but that was just a matter of convenience.  There was no other space for them to sit.

Dean knew this, and yet it was still very disheartening to watch as Cas made exactly zero moves on him.

Somehow, Dean had it in him to make jokes anyway.  He threw himself back, stretching out, painfully aware of how close he was to Cas’ pillow - _the pillow he sleeps on every night - I wonder if he drools on it -_

“Oh, God, what I would give to be able to nap between classes just like this.”

“Go ahead.”

Dean sat up again.  “Seriously?”

Cas spoke while reading.  “On the bed, not in it.  You are in your day clothes after all.”

“Sleeping on your bed,” Dean reiterated.  “With you here?"

Cas finally looked up, pinning Dean with a glare.  “What?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

“I mean, somebody sleeping next to you.  Isn’t that weird?”

Cas seemed to think on it.  “Why would that be weird?”

“I don’t know man, I’ve never - unless, like I was -” Dean couldn’t force the sentence out.

 _I’ve only ever slept next to someone after sleeping_ with _them first_.

“Personal space,” Dean blurted, after much effort.  “It’s a personal space thing.”

Cas rolled his eyes.  “Personal space is just something they teach in grade school to prevent uncivilized children from trampling one another.  As long as you don’t keep me from reading, I couldn’t care less what you do, Dean.”

And that was just it.

Cas went back to reading.  Dean pretended to nap, even though he was just laying there marvelling.  Because it all made sense now.

Sure, Dean had known that Cas suffered from ridiculously low libido for a guy.  But his complete disregard for all of Dean’s advances was in fact simple ignorance: Cas just didn’t even register personal space.  It should have been some kind of comfort, the knowledge that Cas' antics, like picking the urinal next to Dean in an empty bathroom, didn't _mean_ anything.  But it didn't help in the slightest, when Cas still fucking pulled this shit.

He would sit flush against Dean so it felt like they were full on cuddling, he walked so close to Dean their hands kept bumping, he would brush a fallen eyelash from Dean's cheek without a word of warning - and knowing that it all led to nothing, that it amounted to a giant pile of _jack squat_ \- it was driving Dean up the wall.

Even though he knew better, Dean couldn't help thinking that he was about to get a kiss, every time Cas stared him down with their faces inches apart. _Because who does that, unless they're going to deliver on it?_  But of course it never came.  It never would.  And Dean didn't have the good sense to stay away.

Needless to say, Dean started to spend a lot more time at Benny's bar.  Nearly every other week, Cas did something that drove him to drink.

Things seemed to culminate the day they started finals, in one horribly awkward morning.  Dean had passed out during a very late study session in Cas' dorm room, nothing new there, but apparently Cas had also fallen asleep.  Dean woke up face-to-face with him, cuddled right the fuck up and so intoxicated by it all he didn't even know whether his morning wood was pressed into a pillow or if that was _Cas' leg_.

He didn't have a second to gather his thoughts, either, before Cas' eyes opened and fixed right on him.  Despite everything, Dean was still overcome with that feeling that Cas was about to finally smash their faces together - of course he didn't.  Cas all but bolted for the door.

He avoided Dean for the rest of the day.

It made studying impossible.  At one point, when Dean realized he'd been staring at his phone for the better part of an hour waiting for Cas to reply, he gave up on his books entirely.  He hovered over Benny's number for half a moment, contemplating what that really meant for him.  A Wednesday night.  Exams tomorrow.  Not that Dean would really drink enough to affect his grades, but it certainly wasn't the most productive way to spend the evening.

Then again, he'd never done well with cram studying anyway.  He was as ready now as he was going to get.

Benny, however, was more unimpressed than ever.  It didn't stop Dean from going.

"You sure, bud?"  Benny was giving him a skeptical look over his fourth shot.  "Your grandaddy pays a lot a money for you to go to that fancy school."

"Unwinding is important too," Dean insisted  "I'm shit at test taking under duress."

"That's not what duress means -"

"Just give me another."

-

Cas' silent treatment went on for a few days.  It made exam week an absolute nightmare, but Dean got through it.  There was very little sleeping, and a lot of making Benny feed him booze, but he still did alright on his tests.

Then on Friday, came the nail in his coffin.  A text from Cas out of the blue.

' _I need some time._ '

So it was all manner of surprising when Cas burst into Dean’s bedroom that very night with an offer not unlike the one his classmate Aaron had given in that bathroom.  More long-winded, but just as abrupt.

It caught Dean off guard for a number of reasons: he might have been moping a little bit; he might have even been hung over still, and with a couple nights’ worth of insomnia.  Heck, he'd attempted going to bed over an hour ago, so he was sat there in barely more than his underwear.  So everything was just a little too blurry around the edges, for him to properly understand what Cas was saying.

Mostly, though, Dean was just so accustomed to reminding himself that Cas would never want him that way, no matter how close they got, that he simply couldn't believe what he was hearing.  He was sitting there trying to sift out just what it was Cas was really asking of him.

But he was coming up totally short.

“You - you want me to jerk you off?”  Dean managed, dazed.

“No,” Cas grumbled, looking annoyed.  He had been visibly keyed up the second he walked in, though, so that wasn't saying much.

 _Of course_ , Dean told himself.  In Cas Land, ‘mutual masturbation’ meant something totally platonic and nonsexy at all. _How did I even find this guy?_ Dean didn't remember putting up a craigslist ad for world’s worst person to crush on, but at some point he obviously had.

“Just do yourself,” Cas explained.

Dean blinked, several times.  Each time he opened his eyes, Cas was still standing there, grumpy as ever.  And expectant.

Dean still had no idea what he was getting at.  "And you -?"

"I'll do myself,” Cas cut him off.

"But together?”  Dean paused as Cas narrowed his eyes impatiently.  No, he just meant: “At the same time?"

Cas all but growled at him, " _Yes._ "

 _Huh_ , Dean wondered, _is this some prank, or Cas seriously offering to show me his come face?_

Cas gestured curtly between them.  " _Now_ , preferably.  Your brother even left the apartment for us."

"Wha - you told Sam about this?!"  Dean's heart lodged itself in his throat.

"No, I didn't tell him,” Cas rolled his eyes as if in exasperation, but he had a hard time keeping his words straight.  “I just - he asked if he should - no, that's not - _what is your answer, Dean?_ "

He seemed _pissed_.

And Dean still had no idea what was going on, but his first instinct was to comply.  He’d never seen Cas so agitated, and more than worrying him, it made Dean’s rational mind fade.  Suddenly, he didn’t need answers anymore; he just needed to help Cas.

“Okay,” he heard himself saying.  And it worked.  Instantly, Cas’ irritation was gone.  He was hooked on Dean’s every word now, like Dean was a lifeline.

Dean took a deep breath.  “Get over here and let’s do this already.”

Finally, Cas crossed the room, relief written on his features - except for his eyes.  They were on fire, even worse than usual, and he carelessly stripped off his polo shirt as he moved.  It made Dean feel like Cas was going to eat him right up, but of course, Cas went to the opposite end of the bed from him.  He crawled on impatiently, mirroring Dean’s position and kneeling.  He bit his lip as his eyes trained on Dean’s hands, where both his thumbs were hooked into the waistband of his boxers.

That’s when Dean realized there was a serious tent in Cas’ sweatpants - _Wait, sweatpants?_  Dean had never seen him in anything other than nerdy ass trousers or dress pants.

Dean quickly looked past the pants issue.  Bigger and better things were going on than Cas’ sudden wardrobe change - even though sweatpants were crazy hot on him.  Okay, maybe the sweatpants had Dean even more worked up.  Whatever the case, something sexy was definitely happening.  It was weird, and there was way too much distance between them for Dean’s liking, but it was _happening._

“Okay,” Cas spoke, his voice shaky.  “You start.”

Dean nodded.  He didn’t trust himself to speak.  It felt like a spotlight was on him, a completely foreign sensation, and yet his hands moved on their own.  It was as if they obeyed Cas’ intense gaze instead of his own command.  He pushed his boxers down his thighs unceremoniously, baring his half-hard cock for Cas’ wide eyes.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas murmured - he sounded surprised.

“What?” Dean blurted, feeling his cheeks burn hot.  And, shit, despite himself, the scenario just made his dick swell even more.  He moved to cover it.

“No, no, it’s perfect,” Cas insisted.  “Just - that was fast.”

“Hey,” Dean tried to sound anything other than defensive.  “Hot blooded male here, it doesn’t take much.”

“I mean - yes of course, I will, too.”  And suddenly, Cas dropped his sweats right to his knees.

It was Dean’s turn to stare.  Bigger than he imagined, and raring to go, Cas’ dick reached straight up towards his stomach now that it was free.  It was thick and uncut, foreskin pushed right back by his swollen purple head.  Dean had the urge to move forward and taste him, but stayed himself.  He knew that wasn’t the deal.

Cas took himself in hand, wincing as he pushed his skin into place.  “Ready,” he breathed.

It was unreal.  Dean couldn’t believe what he was doing right now.  But he nodded, his lip hurting between his teeth, and copied Cas’ grip.  He tentatively pulled on his cock, and a sigh escaped Cas that made Dean’s cheeks grow even hotter.

He glanced to Cas' face again, shy as he started rubbing it out light and slow.  Cas’ eyes were dark, trained so intently on Dean’s hands, it seemed he didn’t even notice Dean watching him.  Cas made a small noise in his throat, and his jaw slackened - the scene made Dean’s dick throb.  His grip tightened involuntarily, and he had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling as he jerked himself off.

“Yeah - _Dean_ ,” Cas mumbled, and then Dean’s eyes really did roll shut.

He kept them closed for a bit, overwhelmed.  He was still acutely aware of the soft shuffling that was the sound of Cas beating off, only a few feet away.  It was way too embarrassing, the feeling of being watched, of being on display, and as Dean worked his grip faster his legs started to shake on him.

So he leaned back onto his heels, all the while jerking himself earnestly, delighting in the grunt that came from Cas as he did.  He made himself open his eyes again, not to admire the scene in front of him, but to show Cas just how much he was enjoying himself.  He met Cas' eyes and smirked, hummed for him.

It had the desired effect.  Cas made a strangled noise, and his hand moved even faster over his cock, in jerky motions that indicated he was losing control.  It gave Dean a heady rush.

“Is this what you wanted, Cas?” he asked.

“Ah - hum,” Cas cleared his throat.  “Oh, yes, it’s perfect.”

 _Perfect_.  Dean’s pulse hammered in his ears.  Shit, he was definitely going to come early.  “Anything else?” he asked, dizzy.

“Fuck-” Cas’ eyes fluttered shut.  “Dean,” he mumbled again.

“Yeah, I’m right here.  Whatever you want, baby.”

“Okay, shirt off,” Cas said, his eyes flashing open again.

Dean was more than happy to get rid of it

“Now lean back?”

“What?”  It wasn’t a complicated command, but Dean was having a hard time focusing in general.

“On your back,” Cas insisted.  “I want you to ejaculate onto your stomach.”

_The fuck?_

“Ah, okay,” Dean might have whispered.  He did as he was told, laying down outright and lifting his hips now.

“ _Do it_ ,” Cas hissed.

Dean was trying his hardest not to lose his shit.  He was all but prostrating himself, and while shamelessly beating off.  “I did - ah - didn’t I?”

“No, I want you to come.  Now.”

“What the -” No, it was too soon.  Dean didn’t want this to be over so quickly.  But his body was all too ready to comply, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.  He focused hard, trying not to let himself reach full climax just yet.

But Cas wasn’t going to let him off the hook.  “Ah, Dean, show me.  Come for me.”

Dean found he couldn’t argue with that.  “O-okay,” he uttered, shaky, and let go a little bit.

He let himself get lost in the sound of Cas’ heavy breathing, marvelling that it was real, that it was for Dean, _because_ of Dean.  Dean being an obedient little show whore at the drop of a hat.  He would give Cas anything he wanted, and right now, miracle of miracles, that meant blowing his load.  Oh yeah, he could do that.

It came like a wave, and he tried to roll with it, pulling dutifully on his cock even as it pulsed with warning.  But only a single shot streaked hot against his abdomen before he collapsed.  It was all he could do to keep his hand working as he spasmed again, spilling onto his hip, onto the bed.

Beyond him, Cas groaned, deep.  Dean cracked one eye open to see, the delicious sight of Cas’ purple cockhead being kneaded by the tight ring of his fingers.  Dean rubbed gingerly at his own fading erection, coming down ever so slowly as he watched Cas lose himself.

“Rub it in,” Cas commanded, his voice tight.

Dean did, reaching up to wipe at the spot of jizz on his stomach.  He worked his fingers over it under Cas' intense gaze, until it was nearly dry, a sticky stretch of skin.

Soon Dean was totally spent, his dick soft and too sensitive to touch.  But he just lay there and watched, as Cas actually began to form a sheen of sweat across his torso.  Then Cas swore, slowing down and sitting back.  He stopped altogether.

"What's wrong?" Dean murmured, too lazy to move more than his eyebrows in question.

"I can't -" Cas hissed as if in pain, and looked down at his cock in frustration.  "I can't finish."

 _Huh_.  It was enough to make Dean push himself upright.  "What?"

Cas frowned. "It's not - it's not working."

"Is it me?" Dean heard himself say, a needy bundle of insecurity, and he wanted to jam a fist in his mouth.

But Cas looked back up like Dean had just asked him how to add two and two.  "No!" he nearly shouted.  "Dean, you were - you were _glorious_.  God, I didn't know you would be so good."

"Alright, okay," Dean resisted to urge to hide his face.  "Then what's with the blue balls, man?"

Cas shrugged, looking forlorn.  "It worked just fine earlier."

"Earlier?"

"Yeah," Cas shook his dick a little, but it was still very stiff and swung heavily with the motion.  It made Dean's mouth water just watching.  "I was able to do it twice, not even two hours ago."

 _No wonder he can't come_.  "Cas," Dean chided, nearly laughing.

Cas looked worried.  "What?" he implored.

Dean snickered.  "Well, you've gotta give him a rest every once in a while."

"I do?"

"Jeez, Cas, I never would have pegged you for chronic - is it exam stress or -?"

"This isn't funny, Dean!  It hurts!"

“Alright, alright,” Dean tried to ease him.  He had an idea, a terrible one, but he was so high on everything that was happening, he went for it anyway.  “Look, I should be able to help you out, if you don’t mind me - you know.  Helping.”

Cas stared at him with wide eyes.  “What does that entail?”

“It’s easier if I just show you.”  Dean felt like saying it out loud right then would spook the guy.

Cas hesitated, biting his lip.  Then he nodded, giving a hoarse, “Please.”

And it was something straight out of one of Dean’s wet dreams - ruined by the subsequent detail of trying to manoeuvre with his shorts bunched around his knees.  He had to pause to adjust, yanking them back up so he could crawl over to where Cas sat at the end of his bed.

Dean came face to face with him, receiving the staredown of a lifetime.  He imagined for the moment that Cas had the ability to set things on fire by staring at them hard enough, because he was certainly heating Dean’s face all on his own.  Dean once again felt that anticipation, that Cas was going to kiss him, but instead Cas just gestured downwards by nodding.  Ever the romantic.

Dean glanced down, too.  Cas was holding his dick, thumbing his slit absently.  Then he brought his hand away, leaving his cock straining at attention, and it seemed as if from far away Dean heard him say something like “Good luck.”

Luck was definitely with him today.  Dean quickly reached for Cas' aching erection; it was thick in his hand, hot to the touch and hard as a rock.  Dean made himself meet Cas’ smoldering eyes one more time.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Cas didn’t speak.  His hand came up to Dean’s and gave him a squeeze.  Dean didn’t need anything more, and immediately ducked his head to place a sloppy wet kiss on Cas’ cock.

Something went horribly wrong.  Cas shouted, pushing him off roughly.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ”

Bewildered, Dean sat back with his hands up in surrender.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

“You -” Cas stuttered, losing his words.  He seemed to be attempting to cover himself, but his erection was still visible behind his hands.  “That is unsanitary!”

“Cas -” Dean deflated.  Cas was a bigger prude than he’d realised.  “I mean - you’ve never had a blow job?”

“That is _unsanitary_!”

Dean groaned in frustration.  “Really, come on.  You showered today, right?”

Cas shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “Yes, but - that’s how I urinate, Dean!”

“Seriously, if I don’t care, you shouldn’t either.”

“I do care!  I care a lot!”

Dean could feel all his luck slipping away.  Of course it was too good to be true. _And I barely got a taste_ …

He shrugged.  “I bet yours would be the cleanest dick I ever sucked.”

Cas’ nostrils flared angrily, but then he quieted.  He mumbled, “That is probably true.”

It made Dean laugh.  It was definitely the wrong thing to do, and was probably going to cost him any chance he had of getting Cas in his mouth again, but he couldn’t help it.

“I’m glad one of us is amused,” Cas interjected, sniffing.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Dean calmed himself, trying to set his face seriously again.  “If you really don’t like it, that’s cool.  Maybe some vaseline will do the trick.  Or you could always just leave it alone, and it will go away - eventually.”

Cas frowned.  “I really don’t see that happening.”

“Okay,” Dean conceded, hands still up to show Cas that it was his move.  “Honestly, I gotta say, it would make my fucking day if you let me do this.”

“Seriously?” Cas faltered.  “You _like_ \- doing - that?”

Dean tried his hardest not to laugh again.  “Hell yeah, I do.”

“You really do enjoy the dirtiest things,” Cas remarked.  It was probably supposed to offend, but it had the opposite effect on Dean.

“You have no idea,” he grinned.  “So what do you say?”

Cas scowled, but lowered his hands.  Predictably, his cock was still stiff as ever, dark with blood.  He spoke slowly.  “Maybe just one time… to get rid of this nuisance.”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears.  “Yes,” he enthused, “once is all you’ll need.”

“Alright.”  Cas nodded, easing himself to sit back again.  “Let’s get this over with.”

Dean wasted no time closing in on Cas again, holding eye contact to make sure he wasn’t going to back out.  When he took Cas’ cock in hand again, Cas shut his eyes tight.  But he didn’t move a muscle otherwise, and Dean figured that was as much confirmation as he was going to get.  So he tried a second time.

Normally, Dean would be all tongue at first.  But even he could tell that making this last would probably only serve to piss Cas off.  He just wanted this done.  So Dean quickly jammed that swollen cockhead right into the top of his throat.  Cas was too big for him to bother attempting to deep throat - not if he didn’t have the time to work up to it.

Dean just clamped his lips where they were, maybe only halfway down his shaft.  Then he sucked for all he was worth.  He started pulling off and then pushing back down in a motion that made him swallow around his gagging instincts.  It worked wonders, though.  Instantly, there was a pair of hands on the back of his head, gingerly encouraging his pace.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Cas uttered above him - and it was awesome, hearing him cuss.  Then he sighed Dean’s name, and just started humming intermittently - and damn, was that hot.

Dean always appreciated a vocal partner, and Cas was better than he’d ever imagined.  He shut his eyes, all the better to listen, to memorize every broken breath Cas took.

“Ah, Dean, I don’t think I can -”

 _Oh, you definitely can_.  Dean didn’t bother lifting off Cas’ cock to reply.  He just kept a steady rhythm and pressure, taking care to make sure Cas got a decent feel of the back his throat each time he pushed down again.

“Wait...”  Cas’ murmured, totally unconvincing.  “Dean - ah -”

Dean ignored the way Cas’ hands in his hair were pushing weakly at him.  Cas was close now, and Dean would ruin that if he let up in the slightest.

The hands became fists.  Cas seemingly found his tongue, “No, I don’t want to shoot it in your mouth.”

This only spurred Dean on all the more.  He surged forward, gripping Cas’ hip tightly to show his enthusiasm.  He brought his other hand up to pump the base of his shaft.

Cas lost coherency after that, his words just a stream: “Dean, fuck, Dean - Dean, don’t - ah, _Dean_ -”

He lasted under ten minutes, in total.  Dean was very proud when Cas finally choked on his protests, jerking his hips so his dick rammed right into Dean’s throat.  He just locked his jaw and pushed forward, encouraging Cas to fuck his face all he wanted.

Cas might have been holding back, but he didn’t pull out in the slightest as his cock pulsed.  Dean would take it.  He did his best to help by drinking it down, and was rewarded with a gentle whisper of “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ ”

When Cas’ hands slid down to Dean’s shoulders, he figured it was safe to pull off.  He did, slowly, and watched Cas’ face carefully as he sat back and wiped drool from his chin.

Cas just looked dazed.  His mouth hung open, and he stared through Dean like he couldn’t even see him.  He croaked, “Wow.  It worked.”

“I told you,” Dean smirked.

“Hmm.”  Cas shifted to slump against the wall.  The waist of his sweatpants stretched across his knees, and he half-heartedly reached for them.

Dean just propped himself on his elbows to watch.  Cas gave up on the pants and shifted his focus to Dean again.

“Is it always like that?”

Dean shrugged.  “Well, I can certainly make it last longer, which is usually more fun for everybody -”

“No, I mean, the refractory period,” Cas interjected.  “I just assumed if I could achieve an erection then I must also be able to achieve orgasm.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from showing Cas that he sounded silly.  “Dude, do you have to talk like a robot?”

Cas barely rolled his eyes.  “I’m sorry if the correct terminology is off-putting for you.  Should I use ‘stiffy’ and ‘spunk’?”

It was Dean’s turn to choke.  He couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore, howling, “No!  Please, don't!”

It made Cas glare at him, but it was too much.  By the time Dean was done cackling, it seemed Cas had summoned the strength to pull his pants up again.  He was slumped against the wall and looked like he was about to pass out on the spot.  Dean felt a chill; Cas had never slept over at his place before.

“You know what, Cas?” Dean asked, wiping at his eyes.

“I don’t think I want to…” Cas mumbled, half-hearted.

“It looks like we finally found a subject you suck at,” Dean managed.

“This is true.”  Surprisingly, Cas cracked a smile, too, beneath his drooping eyes.

It filled Dean with hope.  “But hey man, I’ve got good news for you.”

“What is that?” Cas grumbled, though he couldn’t seem less interested.  He was pulling a pillow closer and curling up to sleep.

Dean couldn’t help grinning anyway.  “I happen to know a great tutor.”

“Ah, you’re so full of yourself, Winchester,” Cas moaned, waving dismissively.  He didn’t even open his eyes.  “I do not need a _tutor_.”

But he was still half-smiling, and Dean would take it.


	3. the Bonus Track

Castiel woke up in Dean’s bedroom in the dead of night.  He rarely ever felt this groggy, so there was a moment of disorientation before he really processed this fact.  Then it hit him.

 _I need to get the Hell out of here_.

He sat up abruptly, glancing around in a panic.  Dean was there, a foot or so away, sprawled at the head of the bed.  Peacefully sleeping, clad only in a pair of boxers.

It occurred to Castiel that he was also shirtless, himself.  He crawled off the bed as gently as he could, so as not to disturb Dean.  Castiel didn’t want to wake him; mostly so that he wouldn’t have the misfortune of having to talk to him just now.

Castiel spotted a small pile of fabric that stood out against the dark floor, a likely candidate for the white shirt he’d been wearing yesterday.  He lifted it up, glad to discover the stiff collar of his polo.

He managed to pull it on and slip out of the room without drawing unwanted attention.  In the living space, however, Castiel was given the fright of his life as a creature lunged out of the shadows at him.

It wasn’t Sam Winchester crawling on the ground, as Castiel first thought - which made no sense, really.  The creature was nowhere near as big as Sam.

It was a small dog, which had certainly not been here before.  Thankfully, it wasn’t a noisy one; it just padded around and around Castiel with a tail that wagged back and forth.  Castiel sighed with relief, trying to slow his wildly beating heart, as he tried to keep the dog from following him through the front door.

He felt bad about not being able to set the deadbolt back on their apartment door as he left, but there was no helping it in this situation.  Castiel was struggling to keep his head on straight as it was.

He checked the time on his phone. _Three a.m._  He decided he could use a walk anyway, and started down the quiet street that lead to their campus.  It was nearly twenty minutes before he reached his dorm, ample time for the shock to wear off.  The weight of that night finally settled on him.

He had allowed Dean to perform oral sex on him.

It was more than unexpected; Castiel had never imagined that he would allow such opprobrious conduct between them.  But the experience was different than he would have thought, such a deliriously pleasant sensation that he might have lost his senses a little bit.  Now that they had returned to him, Castiel’s gut was all in a twist.

He went straight for the showers.  It didn’t make him feel any less dirty.  He went back to sleep in his own bed, exhausted - with himself, with the stupid, inexplicable pull Dean had on him, with the whole god forsaken night.

The next day didn’t find Castiel any less miserable.  He had too much to do, after the lengthy interruption to his plans last night.  This frustration infected every thing he did.  It didn’t help that his phone was alight with messages from Dean all day - and that Castiel somehow couldn’t refrain from picking it up and replying every time it went off.

The conversation was mundane, really - Dean was in a fight with his younger brother about the surprise dog in their living room - until one of Dean’s messages announced that he was heading over to campus to visit Castiel.

Term was over; they had nothing to study.

 _Why is he coming here?_ Castiel thought with a panic.  And why hadn’t he promptly refused?

Worse than the dread of whatever Dean’s intentions were - or what it was Castiel would allow to happen - Castiel had a whole other problem.  He'd seen it coming, of course, but in an uncharacteristic miscalculation, he had underestimated just how serious it was.

It was accountability.  Castiel had never had to answer to anyone other than his own family, and so when it came time, he found himself completely unequipped to deal with Dean's wide eyes and this strange sense that Castiel had somehow betrayed him.

"You're leaving?"

Castiel gave up trying to close the bedroom door behind him, as Dean seemed adamant about standing in the way of it.  So he threw up his hands and turned to walk back to his bed, where he had been packing his suitcase before the interruption, explaining as he went.  "I have a job back home on a research team - I go back every summer, you know this."

"But it's a whole week before the dorms even close!"  Dean followed him in, leaving the door ajar.

Castiel sighed, retracing his steps and closing it.  "Yes, but I have to start on Monday, so I leave tomorrow."

" _Cas_."

He had been avoiding eye contact because Dean's expression was too unsettling right now.  But that tone Dean took, it pulled Castiel's gaze up to meet him.  And there was that inexplicable feeling all over again, that Castiel was somehow responsible for Dean's emotional reaction.  It was a solid weight in Castiel's gut.  It was so very unpleasant.

"Were you even going to say goodbye?"

"Of course," Castiel scoffed.  He had a feeling Dean's version of 'goodbye' entailed more than a text message.  That was extraneous to the point, though.

Dean just frowned, and it was quiet for long enough that a new kind of discomfort settled between them.  Castiel couldn’t help but think of last night, which made him turn away suddenly.  Too late; his body had decided to respond to Dean’s staring contest with arousal.

 _Just great_ , Cas grumbled inwardly.  He glared at his suitcase, where his shirts suddenly seemed to be folded all wrong.

“Well, when will you be back?”  The resignation in Dean’s voice was a small measure of relief.  It seemed he was done arguing, at least.

“I don’t have a return date yet.”  Castiel started pulling out his shirts to redo them.

“You must have some idea,” Dean insisted.

“Not really.”

“What if I came up to visit?  That could be fun.”

Castiel tried to consider this, but was assaulted with the mental image of Dean naked and touching himself in Castiel’s own childhood bedroom.  It didn’t help his arousal situation at all.  “I really don’t think I would have the time to receive you,” he made himself say.

Dean dropped himself onto the bed, ruining the new pile of shirts.  Castiel failed an attempt not to look at him.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a workaholic?” Dean asked, but Castiel was having a hard time registering his words.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Would it be too much if I… asked for your help again?”

Dean grinned wide.  “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Castiel winced.  “I really hadn’t planned on asking again.  I apologize.”

“Are you kidding me?  Last night was - okay, not going to lie, it was weird - but it was also a lot of fun.”

 _Fun_.  Castiel nearly groaned in frustration.  His body was raring to go, and here was Dean more than willing to oblige, and yet -

“What’s wrong, Cas?”

Castiel gestured angrily at his suitcase.  “I am _leaving_.”

Dean sized him up, nodding quietly.  “Yeah,” he said after some time, “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.  Give me your phone.”

“What?”

Dean stood with his hand out.  “Phone.  Give it.”

Castiel complied.

“I am a very strict tutor, Cas,” Dean said as he searched for something on Castiel’s phone.  “We’re going to have to set you up for long distance sessions, so you don’t fall behind.”

Castiel was getting annoyed.  “What are you talking about?  I told you, I’m not taking lessons from you.”

Dean just held a finger to his lips, eyes trained on the phone.  When he seemed to have completed his task, he split a wide grin and handed the phone back to Castiel.  It appeared to be in camera mode, showing Castiel his own disgruntled face.

“It’s called snapchat,” Dean explained.  “It sends -”

“Timed image messages which automatically delete after being viewed,” Castiel finished for him.  “I know what it is.”

Dean groused, “Videos, too,” but he did not look displeased.  In fact, he was blushing heavily.  “So, what do you say?”

Castiel sighed.  “Dean, I am not as attached to my phone as you are.  If you’re expecting pictures of my morning coffee or the sunset in Illinois, you’re going to be disappointed.”

Dean _snorted_ at him.  “Cas, no - it’s -” he shook his head.  “Just wait here a second, okay?”

And Dean dashed out the door, leaving Castiel utterly bewildered.  He looked down at his phone, again taking in the ugly frown he was wearing, as his own face peered back up at him.

A notification appeared, of an incoming message.  Castiel opened it.  Then he nearly dropped his phone.

It seemed that the bathroom was where Dean had gone off to.  He’d sent Castiel a photo of himself sitting on the toilet with his jeans still on, though his fly and boxers were wide open to reveal his private parts.  He was holding his semi-erect penis and grinning at the camera.

The caption read, ‘ _How about now?_ ’

Castiel was nearly fuming; how could he have been so obtuse?  So _dull_?  He had never been the most imaginative of people, but this was an obscene blindside.  Dean was suggesting a whole world of possibility, and Castiel’s mind had gone straight to the banal stereotypes - _coffee and sunsets_.

It was too embarrassing.

He wanted to communicate some form of approval, but the app expected him to do so in the form of a photo.  He was staring at his own face again, thoroughly dissatisfied with its appearance in the current context.  He took a picture of the ceiling to reply.  He wrote, ‘ _I apologize for the misunderstanding_ ,’ and ran out of room.  He swore under his breath and deleted it.

This app was so cumbersome.  Castiel considered opening a text message instead, when it occurred to him that _he_ was the problem.  He wasn’t responding in the appropriate manner.

Dean wasn’t expecting words in return.

A new image was incoming.  Castiel abandoned his attempt at a message and opened the new one instead.  His heart jumped when his phone started playing audio with it, as the image moved.  It was a short clip of Dean’s fist pulling on his penis, which was bigger now than in the last photo.

Castiel knew it was his turn.  He dropped himself next to the suitcase on the bed, clumsily undoing his zipper.  Unlike Dean, Castiel didn’t need to work himself to an erection; he was ready to go.

He snapped a photo of his rigid penis, sent it quickly so he couldn't second guess himself.  He was rewarded with another clip of Dean stroking his erection, this time at an angle that captured his face too.  He was biting his lip.  Castiel could hear him sigh softly.  Then it disappeared again.

Castiel was already rubbing at his erection as he watched, so he sent Dean a photo of his hand at work.  Dean’s next reply was a similar image, this time again with a caption.  ‘ _Hold the button to take a video_ ’.

Castiel complied.  It was a quick learning curve, once he stepped out of that box he'd been stuck in.  He was venturing into a communication format that didn't require words, that was even hindered by them.  It made him wonder how much more last night's exchange truly contained, and without him even knowing it.  They hadn't said much, really - but then maybe they had, after all.

And Dean was just full of guidance; each one of his video clips was equal parts arousing to watch and eye-openingly creative, leading by example.

Dean was certainly in his element.  He was the first to speak, too, whispering off-camera as the head of his penis popped in and out of the ring of his fingers.  "Fuck yeah," his voice breathed.  The video was stamped with a caption, too: ' _Do u think ur dormies can hear me?_ '

It wasn't long before Castiel became fed up with the back-and-forth.  He recorded himself dropping his hand from his penis, uttering, "Get back in here, Dean."

Castiel only intended to rid them of the annoying interruption that was recording and opening messages.  But Dean seemed to have other ideas.  The second he walked into the room, he swooped down on the bed to wordlessly put his mouth on Castiel's erection for a second time.  He didn't reply, either, when Castiel protested, other than to slip his tongue over the head of Castiel's penis in tantalizing circles.  Castiel's words dissolved entirely, and he could only lean back and refrain from thrusting his hips up into Dean's face.

It took much longer this time.  Dean was being more - gentle, for lack of a better word.  None of the tight friction Castiel needed, and a whole lot of soft, warm, wet caressing that drove him insane with the pressure.  He couldn’t get Dean to go any faster, either, and gave up.  Gave in.  He let Dean tease him to hell and back, until what felt like hours later, orgasm found him.

He could hear himself groaning shamefully and couldn’t stop it, as he ejaculated into Dean’s sweet, warm mouth.  Once it had passed again, he came to his senses too suddenly.

 _For fuck’s sake_ , Castiel panicked silently. _Did this actually just happen again?!_

Dean was still in the thick of it, though, humming in praise even as his mouth was busy on Castiel’s penis still.  It seemed he was trying to milk him for more, though Castiel was thoroughly spent.  He noticed the movement of Dean’s arm, indicating that he was pleasuring himself still, and suddenly Castiel was embarrassed to watch.

 _It’s exactly what I asked him to do_ , he berated himself.  What was going wrong with him?

He was spared from bearing witness to much more, as seconds later Dean’s voice cracked and he stopped to press his forehead against Castiel’s thigh.  He whispered, “Ah, _Cas_ ,” as he finally finished.

Castiel had to close his eyes against the sight of him.  Too beautiful, as always.  Although that had never mattered to Castiel before; it was probably a sign that he was outright losing his mind now.

A moment later, he felt Dean’s weight pressing over him.

“So?  You still sure you don’t want lessons from yours truly?” he asked, sounding smug as ever.

Castiel clued in, just in time, to realize that Dean was leaning in towards his face, and managed to dodge the gesture of affection.

“Please, Dean.  I am very much finished,” he complained, his hands pushing on Dean’s shoulders to let him up.

Dean obediently climbed off of him, giving Castiel space to put his shame away and do up his pants.  But he looked like a kicked puppy.

“Was I that bad?”

“No,” Castiel said, dropping his face to his hands.  “Quite the opposite.”

Dean shifted beside him.  “But you don’t look very happy.”

Castiel knew he was behaving irrationally.  He couldn’t help it.  He wished he could just look Dean in the eye and tell him how talented he was at oral sex, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look Dean in the eye ever again.

He apologized through his fingers.

He heard a sigh.  “Hey, don’t say that.  I _want_ you to tell me if you don’t like something, Cas.”

Castiel _did_ like it, though.  At least his penis certainly did.  A part of him fought to say as much, but the rest of him held tight.  No, there was nothing about having his genitals in someone’s mouth that was okay with him - but it was _Dean_ , and Castiel just kept letting it happen.  He didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

“I won’t do it again, I promise.”

And now Dean felt bad about it, and there was nothing Castiel could say to make that better.

“Hey, Cas, hey - listen to me.”  There were hands on Castiel’s.  “We can do whatever we want, man.  We’re the bosses of this thing between us, okay?”

Castiel recognized the attempt to cheer him up; cheer was not what he needed right now, though.  He wanted to apologize again, but Dean had already told him not to.  “You are very good at oral sex,” he bit out, making himself look at Dean so he knew Castiel meant it.

“But that’s not our thing, is it?”  Dean grinned for him.  “We just wanna watch, don’t we?”

Castiel felt like he could melt with gratitude.  He nodded.

If he didn’t know better, he might have had the impression that Dean was a mind reader. But a look into Castiel’s head right now would have just been an overload of verbiage - so bad that Castiel himself couldn’t sort through it at the moment.  And in truth there was nothing so mysterious about Dean’s inference: he simply communicated on a level without words.  He was a natural at it.

Castiel had a whole new appreciation for Dean’s unique intelligence type.  It had use, after all.

“Yes, you can be my tutor,” Castiel conceded.

Dean barely masked his wild happiness.  “All right!  Now we’re talkin’,” he patted Castiel on the shoulder, repeating himself and nearly laughing.  “All right.”

\--

Castiel never expected Dean to be such an enthusiastic teacher; though he supposed there was a lot to catch up on.  They had another lesson the next day, before Castiel had to catch his flight, and when he landed an hour later there were a series of notifications that he had to ignore while Anna received him at the airport.

Then it was straight to a family dinner, formal as ever - Father and Mother even called upon him to attend their table for a time - and all along Castiel was burning with the urge to escape and check Dean's messages.  Of course, he endured the rest of the affair without succumbing, but as soon as he said his goodnights and closed his bedroom door on the day, Castiel was fishing for his phone.

He was hard before he'd even found it. As he impatiently went for the app that promised him hot pictures of Dean, Cas was pressing his free palm against his erection.  He was too worked up and needed more; he went for the button of his slacks as Dean's message opened.  He immediately registered three things:  It was noisy.  It was outside.  There was no Dean.

Cas' fingers paused in their work.  He frowned, watching the clip of an airplane lifting into the blue sky.  The caption read, " _Bye Cas_ ".

It was a nice sentiment, but not what Cas was expecting.  And not what he needed right now.  He waited for the next image, which was unfortunately no more intimate than the last.  It was Sam's new puppy, apparently.  An adorable, fluffy, yellow dog. _Not_ what Castiel wanted to see.

He had to reach and turn on the bedside lamp, but thankfully that was sufficient lighting for him to lean back and snap an image of the front of his pants.  He shoved his shirt up, even, so it was plainly visible that his button was already undone - he didn't need to shift anything to show off the solid shape of his erection straining against his slacks.

' _I need a lesson_ ', he typed while smirking.  He rubbed himself absently with just one thumb as he waited for the message to appear as opened.

And waited.

He became annoyed, and positioned himself for another photo.  This time he undid his pants completely, arranging his swollen penis so it rose up from the line of his briefs.  Just when he was satisfied with the display, he got a message from Dean.  It was not an image or video.  It seemed this app also had a chat option.  Castiel scowled.  That information would have been useful the day before.

' _Holy shit Cas_ '.

Then, ' _Give me a sec_ '.

Cas thumbed the photo option instead, and snapped a picture of his hand wrapping around his penis.  ' _No.  Hurry up_ ', he wrote.

It was a slow start, but soon enough Dean was on board.  He seemed to be in a public toilet stall.  Castiel thought he should be concerned about that, but couldn't bring himself to care.  It was doing the trick all the same, and if Dean was okay with it, that was all that mattered.

It did become a regular nightly thing, and Castiel noted that Dean responded from his own bedroom after that first night.  He was quick on the uptake.  Castiel appreciated that.  And it really helped with his sleep hygiene, as their routine became consistent.  Far from his usual, Castiel found himself driven to distraction every evening until he could bow out for the night and go up 'to bed', where Dean was waiting for him on his phone.  Masturbation was also a great sleep aid, it seemed, and he was getting an unprecedented seven or even eight hours of sleep every night.

Castiel could never have imagined such results.  It was a whole new world.

It was a month before something unexpected happened.  Dean showed up.  At the house.  Anna brought him in one evening, giggling like a schoolgirl.

 _I suppose she still is in high school, after all_ , Castiel reflected.

"Someone is here to see you, Castiel," she announced with a grin, stepping into the parlor where Castiel was discussing with Father his recent progress at work.

"What do you mean," Castiel responded suspiciously.  "We are not prepared for house guests."  This was why he hated surprises.

She waved in Dean, who stood awkwardly, too tall in the doorway.  He nodded not at Castiel, but at Father first.  "Mr. Novak," he said.

Castiel had to give Anna some credit for that.

"Father, this is Castiel's friend from university.   Dean."

"How do you know each other?" Castiel blurted, forgetting himself.

Anna seemed to think he was funny.  "Dean's a normal person.  He uses facebook."

Castiel quickly got over his bewilderment.  Father excused him, insisting that he show his friend around.  Castiel agreed; he brought Dean to the university where he worked.  They had a nice tour, Dean asked a lot of questions, and it was dark already by the time they were done.  So they headed home, where Anna had prepared a guest room for Dean to stay.  On the way, they passed a sign for something called a Beer and Bacon Happy Hour, and Dean almost convinced him to turn the car around.

"I have to wake up early for work," that wasn't a good enough reason to deny Dean bacon.

"I don't even like beer," was equally ineffective.

But when Castiel muttered quietly, "I was hoping we could have a lesson," Dean shut right up.

"Yup, that's a much better idea," he said.

Before he knew it, he had Dean in his room.  Just as he imagined.  Okay, with more clothes.  It was late, but Cas still wasn't completely confident that Anna wouldn't call on them, and it would be terribly awkward for them to have to pull on their clothes before answering her.

Besides, he was impatient, and Dean had no more than closed the door behind him when Castiel seemed to snap.  He pinned Dean into his desk chair and Dean just whispered, "Yeah, okay," before he had his jeans open.  Castiel sank to his knees, to be eye level with the hypnotic motion of Dean's fist working over the swollen head of his penis.

No, it wasn't quite what he'd had in mind.  But it was enough.  They stayed like that for some time, silent but for the sound of skin sliding against skin and their own short breaths filling the air.

Then Dean asked him for a tissue.

Castiel said no.  "I can't see if you cover it."

"Cas, man," Dean strained, jerking steadily, obediently.  "I don't wanna come on your face."

"Then don't," Castiel growled.

Dean sighed heavily; but it sounded like he was really enjoying their current exchange.  He leaned back, angling himself so that when he did ejaculate a moment later, it shot onto his own shirt.  Two wet streaks; the third was weak, didn't make it past Dean's fingers.

 _Amazing_.  Castiel reached out to stop Dean from pulling the waist of his boxers back up.  He didn't know why he wanted Dean to stay like that, because he couldn't keep his eyes open to admire it anyway.  They fluttered shut as the pressure mounted inside him, and he knew he was just about done.

" _Dean_ ," he heard himself grunt.  He was gripping Dean's wrist tight, probably painfully so, as he finally came.

Castiel was aware of the chair rolling back while he caught his breath again, and he opened his eyes to find Dean dropping onto his knees in front of him.  He didn't say anything, just stared, leaving his arm still in Castiel's grip.  Castiel stared back.  Dean's eyes were wide and he licked his lips.  Still quiet.

But Castiel knew better now.  Dean was _saying_ something.

"Tell me," he huffed.

Dean looked pained as he blurted, "God, I want to kiss you right now."

Castiel considered him.  Something like that seemed so small compared to the daily requests he made of Dean.  "Yes, I think that is acceptable."

" _Acceptable_ ," Dean chuckled, a grin splitting his face.  He said it again, like he couldn't believe his ears, "Acceptable..."

Maybe it had been a long day for Dean.  Castiel decided to help him along, and leaned forward to push his lips gently against Dean's before sitting back again.  "Yes, acceptable."

Dean was frowning.  "Can I just - one more time -"

"Sure," Castiel barely managed to say the word before Dean lunged at him so hard they both fell back onto the floor.  He expected to hit his head, but Dean held him tight, with a hand on either side of his face.

And when he kissed Castiel, it was so much more than just the press of lips.  It was unbridled excitement, it was Dean's smile bleeding right into him.  Dean laughed softly against his mouth, whispering Castiel's name and then kissing him again.  "Oh, Cas," he breathed between kisses.  He didn't use tongue, like Castiel thought people did; in fact it wasn't wet at all.  Just warm.  Just Dean.

His joy was infectious.  Castiel could _feel_ it, his heart hammering in his chest, directly against Dean's above him.  Their penises were side by side, completely spent, not even the smallest part of this equation.  Finally, Dean pulled up, grinning.  And everything written on his face was mirrored in Castiel: a certain titillation, a rush in his veins.  That Dean had put there.

" _Oh_ ," Castiel said numbly, his mouth working much slower than the rest of him.

This was exponentially better than anything else Dean had taught him so far.

"I think that needs to be added to the syllabus, yeah?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Oh, yes," Castiel agreed.  "I feel like this is where we should have started things."

"Hah," Dean breathed.  "Were we just saving the best for last?"

"No, no, no," Castiel sat up, pushing Dean back.  He adjusted his pants back into place without really doing them back up; he had his other hand fisted in Dean's shirt as he maneuvered the two of them up onto the bed.  "From now on, the best comes first."

Dean was nodding enthusiastically, pliant under Castiel's hands.  "Got it."

They went down side by side, Castiel running his fingers along Dean's cheeks.  He was in position now, about to kiss Dean again - Lord, it was all he wanted to do - but something stopped him.  Dean's gaze shifted back and forth between Castiel's eyes.  He bit down on his smile.  There was something else he wasn't saying out loud.

And now, Castiel knew better than to leave this stuff unsaid; they led to such wonderful things, with Dean.  "What is it?" he asked quickly, excitedly.

"Cas -" Dean broke off, shy suddenly.  He swallowed.  "Cas, I really like you.  You know that, right?"

Castiel studied him for a moment.  "Yes, that sounds about right."

"That sounds about right," Dean repeated, as if trying to make sense of the words.

Castiel pressed their mouths together, trying to emulate that energy Dean had brought to the activity.  He wasn't even sure what he was doing, but the spark was definitely there, and when Dean's hand came up to rest on his waist, something in Castiel urged quietly.

 _More_.

He broke away so he could nod.  "Yes, I think I really like you too."

Dean just chuckled and pulled him in closer.  There was a lot of kissing after that.

Dean never did make it to the guest room.


End file.
